Saturday, 30 May 2015

It’s been 23 years of the annual astha prahar in Toronto.
Perhaps, it is one of the longest running 24 hour chanting sessions in
North America. This program held at the
Thakur Centre was first initiated by a sweet man by the name Raja Sarangi. We remember him lovingly as the man born and
raised in Orissa, and who had a passion to duplicate in Canada a practice he
had embraced close to his heart as a boy.

And here’s what he taught us. You set up a shrine in the middle of a field,
or in the middle of an indoor community hall, and after adorning it with
pictures and icons of Krishna and Chaitanya, you now have a station around
which you circumambulate while engaged in kirtan. It’s a tradition in Bengal and the
surrounding areas.

The people here at the Thakur Centre, mostly hail from
Bengal, and they are very much loyal and dedicated to this annual kirtan cause. I was blessed to kick start the program this
year, as usual. Groups who are practiced
at kirtan come in throughout the day
when it’s their slot, usually a one or two hour length. I see this as the ultimate goodwill
activity. A sound which is sacred sends
positive bliss chemicals into the atmosphere.

This was also the case at Christie Pitts Park when after
the march against Monsanto, a residual trickle of people engaged in kirtan in the park. It was a totally unplugged sound
vibration. No drums, no harmonium, no
cymbals were available, nor were they necessary. Just a happy sound of kirtan from the voice, and the clap of the hands permeated through
the ether.

It was a consecutive day number four for chanting in the
public. Our venue was Bloor Street West,
to Christie Pitts Park, and back.
Wow! What positive responses!

A luxury bus driver stepped out of his vehicle as we
moved by. He was tossing his full length
hair back, and remarked about the chanting, “I love it.” At the ROM (Royal Ontario Museum) a Jamaican
Rasta man with dreads, was playing on his steel band drum. He looked a little glum, head down and
playing slow. Our little kirtan party got to either side of him
and perked him up. He then came up with
a tune that we were encouraged to sing to.
It worked out alright.

By the time we reached Christie
Pitts Park, the grass
looked very inviting. We sat down and
formed our circle and chanted. One by
one, park browsers came to sit with us, expanding our circle of sound.
There was Mario, Marnie, and Agatar. And more joined in on the fun.
And as our two drummers, Eklavya and Devala,
made a visit to the bladder room, we learned from Marnie that the very
park we
were sitting at would be the venue for the next day’s rendezvous for a
protest
march against Monsanto.

One of the girls asked Marnie, “What’s Monsanto?”

“Basically, the Devil visiting us,” said Marnie most
confidently.

Strong statement.
The truth can be spoken of in sometimes unkind words.

It used to be that people in the public would see one of
us and say, “Hey, I haven’t seen you guys in 30 years.” Today, as our group was chanting along on
John Street, an excited wiry and white haired man remarked, “I haven’t seen you
guys in 40 years.” It came to mind that
time is passing by quickly, and secondly, that this is a confirmation that our
effort to explore different parts of the city was a good experiment. It’s working, people are seeing us again. The need to be more visible as Krishna monks was obvious.

I kept dwelling on the concept of passage of time. A good friend, just the other day, spoke of
another friend, and said this about him, “When I saw him he was walking with a
cane. I was shocked how old he suddenly
had become. He had age marks on his
face.” Then I interjected, and due to
not hearing properly, almost as if I’m getting to the age of hard of hearing.

“What did you say?
He’s got Aids marks on his face?”

“No!” I was
corrected, “AGE marks.”

“We’re all getting older,” was my thought, “and it is
happening fast.” I have these mental
glimpses of myself on the streets of Toronto when I was a young whipper snapper
of sorts, doing the same thing, chanting on the streets. What comes to mind is a message of the Gita,
wherein a verse implies the movement of the soul recycling itself rather
swiftly. “As the embodied soul
continually passes in this body from boyhood, to adulthood, to old age, the
soul similarly passes into another body at death. A mature person is not bewildered by such a
change.”

By this method, youth is followed by old age, so what is
there to worry about? We can look at
aging from a mature perspective. We must
learn to take it like a ma… monk.

With young Devala, a mridanga drum teacher, we took to a
trail’s walk. With a few more monks, and
one nun, we took to the corporate tourist and municipal area of the city,
including, perhaps for the first time, Church Street, which is the established
gay community. Gradually, we are
covering the downtown core in areas where people just haven’t seen Krishna
monks for a while. This second
installment of walking was featured with drums and karatalas (hand cymbals), and our voices, of course.

Back
at home base in the evening, I was sitting in the
main office when a smartly dressed young fellow walked into our
building. I greeted him. We exchanged names. I asked where he’s from
and he answered that
he’s from Bangladesh and identified himself as coming from a Muslim
background. We sat down and he admitted
to coming for the first time. He had
loads of questions.

I volunteered to say that Bangladesh was a part of India
not so long ago.

“Oh yes,” he said, “It got its independence in ’71.”

We continued. “At
one time, that whole section of the globe practiced a Vedic culture.”

He had never heard of the Vedas from India. Then we jumped over into the topic of the
supernatural. He asked what is our take
on ghosts?

“Disembodied beings, souls who are frustrated for not
having a body through which to have sensory experience. In fact, we are all travelling through
bodies. Our soul transmigrates, it
sometimes becomes suspended.”

“As in purgatory?” he asked.

“Yes, as a ghost, or in a place like pitri-loka, or, purgatory.”
We went on and on. He seemed
fascinated with this explanation and more.
I introduced him to our visiting Lithuanian monk. It was there that the newcomer had spent his
last minutes at our ashram. He then left with many thoughts on his
mind. Yes, there are many things to
think about, and that’s what makes us human.

The discussion of today based on the story of Subhari
Muni was interesting. Lead by Bhakti
Swarup Chaitanya Swami, a visiting monk from Lithuania, our discussion detailed
the plight of the muni, who meditated
while submerged in water. Right in front
of him, two fish started mating, and this agitated the yogi to the point where he left the water and gave up his
vows. It sounded like he had a weak
mind.

The story did remind me of a W.C. Fields response when
someone asked him if he would like a glass of water. He refused the offer, saying that he doesn’t
take water because fish copulate in it.
This I relayed to the group in our discussion, they had a good laugh.

The morning passed.

We then all planned for the afternoon, a chanting party
at Kensington Market, a sort of bohemian neighbourhood with rather receptive
people. Cafes, health shop, vintage
clothing stores such as The Eye of Shiva, make this region attractive. A djembe player was pounding away on the
street. He looked as if he could use
some musical accompaniment. He actually
looked rather sad. Our giving him
support worked in mutual terms. You
could now feel his heart leap in joy. A
couple had joined him, friends I guess, and then they showed up along with
three other graffiti artist friends, at our temple’s Tuesday Night Sangha. They sat, listened to the Lithuanian monk,
and ate.

It is so much a fulfilling feeling when the fruits of your
effort become manifest. To see someone
coming to make even a tiny endeavour to make spiritual progress is most
heartwarming. From laughter to mental
peace, Tuesday, May 19th, 2015, became a day of absolute beauty.

It’s a Canadian holiday in honour of Queen Victoria. During her reign, this British colony became
a nation unto itself. Young men, in
particular, usually send off fireworks into the evening sky. It’s questionable how much sentiment behind
this is patriotic, but many people go out for the blast.

For Eklavya and I, the quiet of the day became opportune
for a walk, and my chance to show him choice trails. We were not the only folk that ventured along
Mud Creek, hundreds were out to see green, to capture May’s scent, and do what
the human body likes to do. The two of
us ambled along one ravine, and then embarked upon a second. We wanted to descend on one particular
stairs, but which was in disrepair, and hence, the city put a barrier at the
entrance. We were a trite
disappointed. We stood there.

Luckily, a neighbouring woman happened to be walking by,
and so I asked, “What’s happening? Can’t
we go down?” With a joyous demeanor, she
said, “Don’t worry, the neighbours laid out some tree stumps so you can leap
over the barrier. We want our kids to
have access and fun and not wait for the city to come and fix it.” We thanked her. We proceeded forwarded and went on in
conversation to do with future mission projects, and all the while observing
nature’s esthetics. Eka even took
advantage of the season’s wild mustards growing along the way, and filling his chaddar
(monk’s shawl) with the fragrant
and tasty greens. As monks we felt we
were doing monastic things such as taking to the simple art of walking,
immersed in spiritual topics while foraging a bit in the forest. We
thought ourselves to be ‘real’. And then we diverted to an earlier,
brief
encounter we had in the morning, in our thoughts. As we had detrained
from a trip beginning
from Windsor, outside the train terminal a street beggar who had seen us
asked
Eka and I, “Are you real monks? Cuz
they’re not,” pointing to the two Buddhist monks, indicating that they
were
panhandling. Perhaps he was envious
because their collections were doing good. Now, I’m not making judgment
regarding those
monks, but what did come to our attention was a question, “Are you
genuine? Are you sincere? Are you doing from the heart?”

After a good sleep and a good walk, and then a trip to
the Fisher Mansion, run and owned by members of Iskcon, darshan (viewing of the deities of Krishna) became the first
segment of our devotions in this exquisite building. And what was once the ballroom, now a temple
room for Krishna, there we chanted and discussed from the book, Bhagavatam,
Canto 5, the main topic being, “How does one please the Supreme when there are
varying ideas on how to approach Him? Is
there only one standard approach?”

Answer: No! One should capture in essence and in practice
the principal of unity and diversity.

The visit to the Fisher Mansion was completed with a
breakfast of something called dokla,
kitchery and mango milk. Yummy! I sat next to David Hendrix, yes, apparently
he’s related to Jimmy.

After, I was driven to Farmington by Prithu, a local hair
salonist, along with Eklavya. Here,
again, we opened to the pages of the book, Bhagavatam, this time, Canto
10. Being that there were a good number
of children inside the building, I thought, “Let them sit in front near
me. I’ll read the passage, quiz them,
get them involved.” The technique here
is that automatically, parents get captivated as well. One of the lessons learned from the passage
is that the Creator definitely stages dramas on a full universal scale. Each and every one of us plays a role in the
cosmic performance.

As usual, in a bhakti
setting, there’s always food, prasadam. Yummy!

The third activity of the day was a visit by folks to
Prithu’s home where I was staying. A
monk by the name of Bhakti Ashramam came to join us and engaged with us in song
and in reading on the humble beginnings of kirtan
to the western world. In 1965/66 the
process of kirtan was introduced by
Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. That
makes 50 years. We need to celebrate
this in a grand way with music, song, dance, and food. In our own modest way, in a little corner of
Detroit, we did dine tonight in celebration (with eggless rolls).

That is three meals for the day. The first – Indian, the second – Italian, the
third – Chinese. All were yummy. May the whole world celebrate!

The discussion of today based on the story of Subhari
Muni was interesting. Lead by Bhakti
Swarup Chaitanya Swami, a visiting monk from Lithuania, our discussion detailed
the plight of the muni, who meditated
while submerged in water. Right in front
of him, two fish started mating, and this agitated the yogi to the point where he left the water and gave up his
vows. It sounded like he had a weak
mind.

The story did remind me of a W.C. Fields response when
someone asked him if he would like a glass of water. He refused the offer, saying that he doesn’t
take water because fish copulate in it.
This I relayed to the group in our discussion, they had a good laugh.

The morning passed.

We then all planned for the afternoon, a chanting party
at Kensington Market, a sort of bohemian neighbourhood with rather receptive
people. Cafes, health shop, vintage
clothing stores such as The Eye of Shiva, make this region attractive. A djembe player was pounding away on the
street. He looked as if he could use
some musical accompaniment. He actually
looked rather sad. Our giving him
support worked in mutual terms. You
could now feel his heart leap in joy. A
couple had joined him, friends I guess, and then they showed up along with
three other graffiti artist friends, at our temple’s Tuesday Night Sangha. They sat, listened to the Lithuanian monk,
and ate.

It is so much a fulfilling feeling when the fruits of your
effort become manifest. To see someone
coming to make even a tiny endeavour to make spiritual progress is most
heartwarming. From laughter to mental
peace, Tuesday, May 19th, 2015, became a day of absolute beauty.

It’s a Canadian holiday in honour of Queen Victoria. During her reign, this British colony became
a nation unto itself. Young men, in
particular, usually send off fireworks into the evening sky. It’s questionable how much sentiment behind
this is patriotic, but many people go out for the blast.

For Eklavya and I, the quiet of the day became opportune
for a walk, and my chance to show him choice trails. We were not the only folk that ventured along
Mud Creek, hundreds were out to see green, to capture May’s scent, and do what
the human body likes to do. The two of
us ambled along one ravine, and then embarked upon a second. We wanted to descend on one particular
stairs, but which was in disrepair, and hence, the city put a barrier at the
entrance. We were a trite
disappointed. We stood there.

Luckily, a neighbouring woman happened to be walking by,
and so I asked, “What’s happening? Can’t
we go down?” With a joyous demeanor, she
said, “Don’t worry, the neighbours laid out some tree stumps so you can leap
over the barrier. We want our kids to
have access and fun and not wait for the city to come and fix it.” We thanked her. We proceeded forwarded and went on in
conversation to do with future mission projects, and all the while observing
nature’s esthetics. Eka even took
advantage of the season’s wild mustards growing along the way, and filling his chaddar
(monk’s shawl) with the fragrant
and tasty greens. As monks we felt we
were doing monastic things such as taking to the simple art of walking,
immersed in spiritual topics while foraging a bit in the forest. We
thought ourselves to be ‘real’. And then we diverted to an earlier,
brief
encounter we had in the morning, in our thoughts. As we had detrained
from a trip beginning
from Windsor, outside the train terminal a street beggar who had seen us
asked
Eka and I, “Are you real monks? Cuz
they’re not,” pointing to the two Buddhist monks, indicating that they
were
panhandling. Perhaps he was envious
because their collections were doing good. Now, I’m not making judgment
regarding those
monks, but what did come to our attention was a question, “Are you
genuine? Are you sincere? Are you doing from the heart?”

After a good sleep and a good walk, and then a trip to
the Fisher Mansion, run and owned by members of Iskcon, darshan (viewing of the deities of Krishna) became the first
segment of our devotions in this exquisite building. And what was once the ballroom, now a temple
room for Krishna, there we chanted and discussed from the book, Bhagavatam,
Canto 5, the main topic being, “How does one please the Supreme when there are
varying ideas on how to approach Him? Is
there only one standard approach?”

Answer: No! One should capture in essence and in practice
the principal of unity and diversity.

The visit to the Fisher Mansion was completed with a
breakfast of something called dokla,
kitchery and mango milk. Yummy! I sat next to David Hendrix, yes, apparently
he’s related to Jimmy.

After, I was driven to Farmington by Prithu, a local hair
salonist, along with Eklavya. Here,
again, we opened to the pages of the book, Bhagavatam, this time, Canto
10. Being that there were a good number
of children inside the building, I thought, “Let them sit in front near
me. I’ll read the passage, quiz them,
get them involved.” The technique here
is that automatically, parents get captivated as well. One of the lessons learned from the passage
is that the Creator definitely stages dramas on a full universal scale. Each and every one of us plays a role in the
cosmic performance.

As usual, in a bhakti
setting, there’s always food, prasadam. Yummy!

The third activity of the day was a visit by folks to
Prithu’s home where I was staying. A
monk by the name of Bhakti Ashramam came to join us and engaged with us in song
and in reading on the humble beginnings of kirtan
to the western world. In 1965/66 the
process of kirtan was introduced by
Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. That
makes 50 years. We need to celebrate
this in a grand way with music, song, dance, and food. In our own modest way, in a little corner of
Detroit, we did dine tonight in celebration (with eggless rolls).

That is three meals for the day. The first – Indian, the second – Italian, the
third – Chinese. All were yummy. May the whole world celebrate!

We walked to the river, about 20 of us, over the dirt and
gravel road.The honeysuckles were
tossing their fragrance.Apurva, the well-known
cook who was with us, yanked out some garlic mustard for his lunch, lentil dhal soup.Pandu, who is from Pennsylvania, and was also
with us, had identified this unique plant years ago, and educated me on it.Almost every year as a regular feature of
spring, I would point out this plant to others, pick the leaf or flower, pinch
it between my fingers, and share its fragrance with others.

Well, we made it to the river at the valley’s bottom, and
then turned about face for the incremental climb.I noted places of erosion, nature’s changing
face.And those erosions were not there
the year before.

The bright spots of the day was this walk with comrades,
men and women from as far south as Mexico and Florida, and as far north as
Canada.I will not forget Jaya Adwaita
Swami’s class on the need to view ourselves more as servants and less as
masters.Yes, I enjoyed Apurva’s dhal of fresh local hand plucked
greens.Above all, I met Sally.Yes, Sally, the lady I excerpted yesterday at
my reading at picnic time.

A coincidence?Never!God does live.

Myself and three others sat down with Sally, whose
surname is Agarwal.She’s now in her 80’s
and she was telling us all about when Swamiji,
Prabhupada, first came to America.It
was she who officially sponsored the swami in 1965, and not her husband, Gopal,
who himself was not an American citizen.She told us when she signed the sponsorship letter, and then sent it
off, she had the feeling that nothing would ever come of it.It turns out that her assumption was wrong, Swamiji did show up at the bus terminal,
came to her home and stayed in Butler, Pennsylvania for one month before
embarking upon a worldwide successful mission.She said she was in tears when he left for New York.

One and a half hours with Sally passed by and we heard
all about her first meeting Gopal, and Indian man, who came to white middle
class America.She spoke about her four
children who all became very successful.She is a darling of a lady.I
feel like she’s my mother.

The customs people at the US border were pleasant
enough.Our bus from Parkinson’s bus
company aside from one side of the AC being not in operation.It got a bit stifling at times during this
unusual 30 degree Celsius weather for this time of year.It was the great company that I had that
compensated for the lack of cool, breathable air, on this long ride.

My highlight on the bus ride which held 30 passengers was
reading to the group at picnic time.I
had pulled out of my bag the book, ‘Prabhupada’, and being that not all
passengers, let’s say, pilgrims, knew too much about this sadhu (holy man), I thought to read and inform and even delight the
group.They were enjoying samosas and
wraps with hummus.The author,
Satsvarupa Goswami, shows as a subtitle to the book, ‘He Built a House in Which
the Whole World Could Live’.Now that it’s
fifty years since this sadhu, our guru, Prabhupada, first came to the US
with his mission, I thought it appropriate to read a section where Sally
Agarwal recalls hosting him in her home town of Butler, Pennsylvania.

The excerpt from Sally:

“Our fun was to show him what we knew of America, and he
had never seen such things.It was such
fun to take him to the supermarket.He
loved opening the package of okra, or frozen beans, and he didn’t have to clean
them and cut them and do all those things.He opened the freezer every day and just choose his items.It was fun to watch him.He sat on the couch while I swept with the vacuum
cleaner, and he was so interested in that, and we talked for a long time about
that.So every day, he’d have this big
feast (cooked) and everything, was great fun.”

A busy day it was, and I’m happy, all except for the fact
that I put not one kilometre under my feet by 9:30 PM.So on with the Crocs I go to make the day
complete.It was south on Yonge and west
on lively Bloor Street that I explored.Bloor was vibrant, contented people spilled out of one church where a
symphony had just played.My guess is
that it could have been Bach.I also
passed by this one hall that’s frequented by heavy metal, grunge, and punk rock
bands.It was there that three mildly
toxiced young folks took a fancy to my dhoti
and kurta.“Can we get a picture taken with you?”And so, we proceeded with pleasure.

It was on Bloor, the north side, that I was trekking and
fingering on my beads, when I walked by a café/pub, when I met someone I
knew.People were sipping and eating at
whatever.At this one particular eatery,
up popped a young man who recognized me.He’s Asian by looks, part Filipino I believe. “Hey, Maharaja, remember
me?”I looked at him, and indeed, I did remember.

Here’s a guy who played Dhanvantari, the god of ancient
medicine, in one of my theatrical productions.I was moved.We first met in the
bus en route to Montreal some 15 years ago.He was on his way to a retreat with The Art of Living folks, and I was
bound for the Hare Krishna temple on Pie Neuf Boulevard.We made friends at that point.He had this look of Buddha, knew martial
arts, and I thought I could use him in a part.Low and behold, he came to India with me, and played the role of the
Ayurveda herbal god, in the drama, churning the ocean.He did splendid.

While talking, he refused to sit down, although I
insisted.I really respect the respect
demonstrated in retrospect.From what I
can see, his folks molded him well.I’m not
going to judge him on what he was consuming at the pub, it just didn’t look
like Ayurveda herbal soups.Dhanvantari
might not approve, but that’s beside the point.This young man is a good man, they’re hard to come by.He made my walk this evening, worth it.

“No devices,
no food, no money, no vehicle, rather depend on Krishna” was the policy set by
Jambavan who set the rules for his fourth walk across Detroit. He mentioned that I inspired him on this
annual trek. This time, this year, I
decided to give support and accompany him, so did 16 other enthusiasts who,
like troupers, stuck it out for the long haul.

The long
haul was not so long, really but a considerable distance when you were dealing
with mostly first timers. To what was
calculated to be about 12 miles or 20 kilometres was the stretch taken from Eastpointe
and Gratiot going southbound with some interesting detours and ending at the
playgrounds on Belle Island. Along the
way on Gratiot (originally a French word which locals horrendously pronounce as
“Grash-it”) we observed some good omens.
We even spotted a pretty and wild pheasant. Above all, people were very sweet, receptive,
kind and happy to see some “whites” in exotic cloths taking humbly to the road
on foot in their neighbourhood.

Well, most
people were nice.

This venture
we confirmed is a pilgrimage and Jambavan saw to it that his very own stomping
grounds were places that we would get acquainted with. He pointed to the Faygo factory of soft
drinks (exclusively born in Michigan) and the “Better Made Potato Chip Company”
also fabulously a Detroit origined family business. On the more spiritual catholic side, we
visited Bishop Carl at the gorgeous St. Anthony Church. He had this “George Clooney air about him”
said Jambavan. There was the Capucin
Monk, Brother Joseph at the Solamus Kasey Center who received and gave
hugs. The reception at the Assumption
Church and a grotto of Mary was a harsh one.
Quite harsh.

For detours,
we veered off to neighbourhoods known for their miles upon miles of dilapidated,
gutted out and in some cases, burned down homes. This was like I had never seen before. Like a war zone.

On the
bright side, those streets were the most serene and green nature is doing a
make / take over. And the artistic Heidleburg Project was a real treat for the eyes – something
that we stumbled upon. There was also a
rotund mama who was canvassing for us to put our signature on her house for a
dollar. Also a woman on drugs and in
pink propositioned two of our men as we were walking. All in all, it was an adventure, especially
when the rain poured down and we took shelter of an abandoned home, toilet
removed and all and there we chanted in a joyous kirtan.

At the
Krishna House, I was asked to speak from the Bhagavatam verse 1.8.28.
There is merit to sharing words of wisdom, so I would then like to
extract from its purport the following: “It is no use saying that we do not
know why and for what we are suffering.
We may forget the misdeed for which we may suffer at this present
moment. We must remember that Paramatma (Supreme Soul) is our constant
companion. And therefore, He knows
everything, past, present and future.
And because the Paramatma feature
of Sri Krishna destines all actions and reactions, He is the supreme controller
also. Without His sanction, not a blade
of grass can move. The living beings are
given as much freedom as they deserve, and misuse of that freedom is the cause
of suffering… Everyone here wants to
lord it over material nature, and thus everyone creates his own destiny under
the supervision of the Supreme Lord. He
is all pervading and therefore, He can see everyone’s activities. And because the Lord has no beginning or end,
He is known also as the eternal time, Kala.”

Some other
comments on the topic of kala (time)
based on the teachings and practices of our guru, Srila Prabhupada are as
follows:

Time is the
most powerful representation of God in the material sphere.

We may be
governed by the movements of the sun and the moon, but it is the Supreme who
moves them.

You can’t
buy back a moment of time past with tons of gold. (Chanikya)

“Time and
tide wait for no man.”

Also we
might consider this beautiful phrase regarding the process of nature “Yesterday
is history, tomorrow is mystery, today is a gift.”

I would like
to thank Kelly for her hospitality and her home for a memorable sangha in the evening.

From Cleveland,
Eklavya and I took a bus en route to Ann Arbor, Michigan.

There was a
stopover in Toledo, a first visit for me, to this city. Like most American cities, it is all about
cars. You hardly see pedestrians. While here, I also wondered why, and even as
we grew up as kids, people say, “Holy Toledo” to express surprise. I believe that the phrase was also blurted
out by Robin to Batman. From what I
could gather it has origins from around the turn of the 19th to the
20th century and was meant to be a sarcastic remark – Whatever!

At the bus
station, we met Pranav, a 26 year old student from Gujarat, India, going to
school at the University of Buffalo.
Nice guy. Which is typical of
Indian students. Quiet. Dutiful.
Family and studies means a lot to such individuals. I admire that.

I offered my
services. I said, “Buffalo is close to
Toronto where I live just over the border.
We can visit and do some kirtan
with your friends.’ I handed him the
small book, ‘Krishna: The Reservoir of
Pleasure’ for keeps. Also, another
person from Brooklyn was sitting a depot was making favorable remarks about the
robes. Sorry, but Eklavya and I had
trouble discerning the gender. This
spirit soul was keen to learn and become a recipient of this same informative
book.

Destiny had
it that I once again found myself Ypsilanti for a small Thursday evening
gathering at the Krishna house. This
time the casual presentation was shared by Eklavya. People are always curious to know how one
gets involved in monastic life and in Krishna consciousness. Eklavya gave a thorough description of his
gradual entry into the lifestyle. Very
human and very intriguing was his explanation.

Atmarama is
the name of the person who hosted us in his home in Canton. He treated Eklavya and myself to nearby park,
McKinley Park. It is named after one of
the former presidents of the USA. McKinley
hails from this small city and is also memorialized here at a monument erected
some time after his assassination which was in 1901. Atmarama also informed us that Canton is the
place where the Hover Vacuum Cleaner was invented.

It was
certainly an herbal walk that we embarked upon as much as it was a history
lesson. Along the way, we spotted greens
that we knew, or chewed on, or dreamed of foraging for the next wild forestry
meal. This is certainly the time of the
year for this kind of thing.

Once
reaching the city of Cleveland (after the Canton venture), I invested in a
short second walk with Jatayu, a devotee who deals with autistic kids. The metro parks is a place where we have
tread before. Herbs was the fascination
once again. Some of with are similar to,
or different from, the ones in Canton.
We were not the only ones to see God’s hand at work here in the form of
plants. Other forest lovers were also
out and about.

One
fellow,
a jogger, on this up and down train, loves Jesus. He stopped and
insisted on us reading the
book of John. We explained that we both
had a Christian upbringing. But what we
had to say, fell on deaf ears. We were
to listen to him and so we patiently heard him out. A one way street
conversation it was. We did give, “the last word” so to speak,
before moving on. “Hare Krishna”.

Our closure
to the day happened in the evening at the home of Don Foose (Dayal Nitai). The kirtan
we had was arousing. It felt like all
involved were like herbs exploding out of the ground at springtime. Incidentally, Doyal had just come out with a
beautiful hard book, ‘Raw Life’ by Kung-Foose Publishing . Recipes and the story of his life are
featured. There is no mystery here about
his being a Krishna consciousness person.

Hawking
Hills had our attention for the morning, when Akhila, Eklavya and I explored
Ash Falls and the Old Man’s Cave. Who
wouldn’t be intrigued by a cave where an old hermit type guy spent years in a
hole. And who wouldn’t want to out under
a massive rock awning with acoustics so fine that concerts used to record and
staged under this beautiful and natural canopy.

Here’s how
the story goes about the hermit, who lived in a cave in this very insular area
in the depths of an Ohio gorge. A plaque
reads, “Old man caves derived its name from a hermit named Richard Rowe who
lived in the recessed cave of the gorge.
His family moved to the Ohio River valley around 1796 from the
Cumberland Mountains of Tennessee to establish a trading post. He and his two hound dogs traveled through
Ohio alone the Scioto River in search of game.
On a side trip up Salt Creek, he found the Hawking Hills region. Richard, and his hounds, lived out the rest
of their lives here in the cave.”

As the three
of us roamed this area, we could imagine ourselves spending days here, if not
years. Of course, at the end of the 18th
century, it was probably do-able. But
not today. Privacy would be interrupted
with tourists milling through.

For a
contrast to such of hermit dreaming, we had been invited to the home of Hari,
an engineer from India, whose wife and two sons enjoy life in an upscale neighborhood
in Hudson. People came over to hear kirtan and a talk. I took the opportunity to speak on our guru,
Srila Prabhupada and his achievements in the world.

People do
have a choice whether to live in a mansion, or a cave. But they should never forget the spiritual
component.

Akhila, my
dear friend from Salem, Ohio, and Eklavya, origin New York City and I spent the
greater part of the day in a van to get to this little paradise. After what seemed like the long and winding road
(the only Beatles song I never cared for), we finally made it to the area of
Old Man’s Cave to settle into a cozy world class cabin. A creek runs in front of this rustic place
nestled in a cool and green deciduous forest.

It was our
full intention to hit trails, waterfalls, and cliffs, which are some of the
features that the area is renowned for.
But a heavy storm set into the state of Ohio, and surrounding areas,
which restricted our chances for wonderland adventure. With high winds, rain, and high powered
lightening, we were reminded of God’s greatness, and our meagerness – always a
good message.

We spent the
last hours of the day, preparing and eating a fine organic meal, with Eklavya
juicing up Asparagus, celery and other greens; with Akhila toasting and I
gathering dandelion leaves outside the cabin deck. Our dessert was not orally taken, but through
the ears. I couldn’t help myself to reading
aloud for the three of us segments of the book “Prabhupada” and of his early
days in New York struggling along and alone, seemingly.

Actually, a
monk is never alone, but conscious of the divinity all around him. That is what is good about being in the
forest, feeling the presence of the sublime energy and the sublime energetic
Krishna.

It will be
in three years time that Eklavya will be ordained as a full fledged monk, known
as sannyasa, and spending some time
in the quiet forest prepares oneself.
This place, Hawking Hills, is a good fit for him.

Since Friday
evening, we had been practicing for the drama, “Blue Mystic”. I usually experience miracles through
transcendental theatre projects such as this.

A young man,
Shaun, 18, from Toronto that was going to play the ‘Mystic’, Himself, just
returned from a trip to India and came back with a serious ear infection. The prospect of his playing the part fell
through. So, as my Hindu friends would
say, “When there is a puzzle or a peril, ‘What to do?’”.

Fortunately,
I
usually have in mind, some understudy or a backup person to depend on,
just
in case. I am always looking, hunting
you might say, for fresh talent. On my
last trip to Michigan, I met a young man named Jake, with a decent build
and height. With long, but well groomed hair, and with a
kind of a boyish face. He also told me
that he has a martial arts background. I
had determined from my first meeting him that he has a good nature and
is direct
able. In other words, he would be able
to take directions quite well. He agreed
for the part. And that is what I call a
miracle. And I didn’t have to look too hard.

Today was
the day for our performance at the Palace Lodge at the New Vrindavan
community. Yadhunath and company from
New York, had just completed their comedic and serious drama pieces which very
much moved the audience. Then our troupe
came on. Shortly thereafter, I announced
my walk for September retracing the route our guru, Srila Prabhupada, took when
he first arrived in America.

The lights
went on. “Lights”, “Camera”, (yes,
someone was filming unofficially), and “Action”. The actors did a near stellar performance
(It’s never perfect, is it?). The
implementation of storm and star effects was well executed and so was the
ballet by Balaram. And there was a good
fight at the end with the victor, Krishna, The Blue Mystic, inspiring and
arousing the audience.

After the
crack of dawn I went by foot from Kipling to Rexdale heading west, then along
Derry Rd. which seems to be a path to eternity. This takes me along Pearson
Airport and finally to a crossroads where my host for the evening, Nimai, picks
me up for the balance of the journey to the dental clinic to meet my
appointment. I was going for a cleaning.

The dental
assistant gave me an assessment that was pretty good as to my own personal
maintenance of teeth. I even felt good having heard her compliments. But you
know, there’s another level of diagnosis. When my dentist came to look into my
mouth he was sterner in his assessment, which I guess was great for subduing
the ego.

“Your
brushing is still too aggressive.” And that he said with a truthful tone.

“Oh
Krishna!” I thought. “Just when I thought I was doing rather well with regular
brushing and flossing.” The photos taken of my inside reveal some increased
recession of gums. You can’t argue with the camera unless there are some
special effects being employed here. The dental assistant then gave me the
advice (which has been done before) that I use my left hand for brushing as it
will be executed with more caution. Good advice should always be taken as it is
based on experience.

Now for
life’s direction, the good suggestions, recommendations, whatever, are out
there. It comes in form of what guru has to say. There’s also guru within,
sometimes referred to as paramatma.
We also have sastra, directions given
in the form of ancient wisdom in textual format.

Our guru, Srila Prabhupada, has given us the
mandate to avoid the consumption of meat, intoxicants, gambling and casual sex.
All this is to provide protection from the influence of allurements which coax
us to darker alleys of life.

Good advice
is worth millions. You can’t put a price tag on it, to be factual. Generally it
comes our way in its multiple forms, but are we man enough to take it? Bad and
old habits die hard. May death be the sentence on such habits.

Sunday, 24 May 2015

Today I felt like a more complete pilgrim after some
administrative duties and lessons in the form of a class were delivered, when I
trekked a bit of the city. I was
actually headed towards my dentist for an early morning tomorrow’s
appointment. Yes, I set out a day ahead
and prepared myself for a stayover at a devotee’s home, which is midway to my
dental destination.

I had the pleasure to stop in at the six kilometre mark
at the residence of a much revered person from our Toronto community. It was a much needed visit for myself and
this fine person whose devotion to Krishna and devotion to people has been
sustained to a high level.

I also found it interesting that before and after that
impromptu visit, the interaction was what you might expect from people on a
Tuesday afternoon in a large metropolis.
Most people are driven to ‘get somewhere’. I’m referring to pedestrians as much as the
motorists. Motorists, you just can’t see
through the tinted glass. As far as I’m
concerned, they are zoned out to the real world of outdoors.

I’m sorry to say that about such car controllers. I don’t envy you guys at all, and so far as
pedestrians are concerned, I can see you, and I can try to make eye contact
with you, I can say, ‘Hi’ or ‘Hare Krishna’ and feel good about the day and the
world, only because you’re out in the open.
Unfortunately, most people choose looking at the whizzing traffic and/or
maybe standing there all wired up living in an existence that is of the nature
of ‘be-not-here-now’. Humans, if I could
declare it boldly, we really need to get back to family, farm, and God.

I’ve checked out beaches at off season times, meaning,
not in the summer, and so while in this area of
central eastern Ontario, we looked at Presquil. Personally, I believe that this is a real gem
of a place, for where in the world will you find so much mileage of sandy beach
on fresh water. That’s central Canada
for you. Having lived and been raised in
the Great Lakes region, I find myself to be very fortunate to have been part of
this natural treasure.

Presquil Park and beach are located on a bay off of Lake
Ontario. According to Ernie, a local
resident, it’s an area that juts out into the lake, creating its own unique
ecosystem. A small group of us looking
for property prospects took a short break to go to Presquil and feel the sand
under our feet. Isn’t it grand – the beach,
the water, openness. I can hear kids
play already in their summer fun. Also,
a real plus is fact that the water’s so clean with no salt and no sharks.

While we checked out this tourist attraction with its
expansive sandy beach, we actually spent quality time at a farm after a visit
to the beach and a resort. Winning a
number one award for the most innovative farm in the province of Ontario is
owner of a piece of land that grows Kale and then produces a snack out of
it. The Kale is soaked in a cashew
substance, dried, and then packaged for a large market across North
America. Additionally the property has a
barn and a yard full of family attractive farm animals.

The couple looking after the animals are Fil and
Sukhayanti. Sheep, goats, chickens,
cows, and a donkey are amongst community members of this amazing rural lot that
make it so appealing. I get a charge out
of just holding and petting one of those kids (wee goats) in my arms.

It came to my loathsome but sometime alert brain that in
such an environment of land, plants, animals and healthy industrious people
such as those young folks working at the small kale chip factory, and when you
add the natural spirit of God consciousness, you then have the formula of a
full existence. This is along the lines
of what our guru, Srila Prabhupada,
was talking about. This is the real way
to live.

From Montreal, Pradyumna and I detrained at Union Station
in Toronto. Once reaching the street level,
we patiently waited for the red to turn green at the street light. Two young women were also at the street light
ready to do the same. One of the girls,
however, started to make a dash and got about one quarter of the way across
when the second one called her back. She
did pull back.

I felt compelled to jump in with words, “You don’t want
to go out there and turn out flat like a pizza, do you?”

The two girls who were quite facially garnished with
makeup did start laughing. The red light
turned green and the four of us moved ahead with the two young women becoming
curious. The one asked, “What’s with
the…?” (Clothes, she was referring to.)

“They are robes, I’m a monk, a Krishna monk.”

To that the young woman came back, “What’s a monk?”

“One who leads a simple life…”

And she cut in, saying, “Well, I have a simple life, I’m
telling you.” I think she was referring
to a meagre bank balance or a tight budget.
“Can I be a monk?”

“Yes, you can, but we might call you a nun.”

“Oh, I get it, it’s one name for the men and another for
the women.”

I said, “Yes, indeed.
Please come and visit us sometime.
Here’s my card. There’s a mantra on the other side. If you like, you can try out being a nun for
a weekend, stay with us, learn, and love (God).”

Our ride arrived.
Pradyumna and I made it to the vehicle and the driver, Keshava. We bid farewell to our newly made friends,
the happy cross the street girls.

One young woman in particular wanted the experience of
what’s called a mangal arati, a
ceremony with chants and images at 4:30 AM.
She made the effort, on the will of her desire, she showed up all happy
as a guest. She was also keen to go on a
morning walk with a bunch of us with destination the nearby botanical gardens,
once again. Besides ourselves there was
only one human who came to share the space of shanti, calmness. I guess he
was out on his own meditation. While
sitting on a rock and chanting a quiet mantra
(the gayatri), frogs were all around
us as they tried to leap across our pathway.
Cardinal birds with a fire engine red colour landed on rocks
nearby. Who could blame them for being
nosy, we are a curious sight – human beings in exotic attire of saris and dhotis, and who are chanting mantras.

By afternoon, we made our way to Saint Catherine’s Street
for more pleasure and duty which comes in the form of kirtan. The streets were
crowded. We were just under 20 in
number. Outnumbered we were by the
thousands there and who were on the hot pursuit for maya. Some are tourists, and
they, like everyone else, are caught up in the Saturday spirit of freedom in
this dominant, plentiful city. Generally
you can tell who the tourists are, they have a slightly different air about
them, an air of wonder. With our chanting
procession, we did our grand finale in front of one of those older, gorgeous
cathedrals to be admired. With the rule
of time behind us, we were scheduled to be present at the Iskcon Centre on Pie
IX Boulevard to honour the lion avatar,
Narasingha, a big day on the Vaishnava calendar.

I had received an email that came from a monk friend of
mine, Krishna Kshetra Swami. It was the
first draft of a script, a conversation between Narasingha and ultimate demon,
Hiranyakashipu. Then Yves Prescott, another
friend of mine, joined me in the dramatical reading of this very witty script. It gave delight to the ears of the community
and added a special flavour to the evening.
Everybody likes lions, especially this one.

The fox was staring at us, but only for seconds. He stood there and then moved. Naturally, he wasn’t going to share with us
what was in his mouth. He worked hard to
get that squirrel in between his jaws.
Poor squirrel wasn’t moving, his life force was gone. He was ready to transfer to a new body,
leaving the current one for someone’s breakfast.

Three monks and I spotted more fox in the Botanical
Gardens in and around Le Jardin de Chine.
It was after dawn and the red hunters with the flowy tails were out on
the prowl. For years I’ve heard this
amazing creature gekkering, barking, calling, and then doing something called
vixen screaming. The fox is so diverse
in making sounds, yet this morning, the ones we spotted were absolutely
silent.

Noise of the weekend began to drum up as afternoon rolled
out. The same team of monks who spotted
fox in the morning were now on Saint Catherine’s street to deliver the mantras to the foxy ladies and the foxy
people in general (I was one of those monks).
“Foxy” as I understand it, and as Jimmy Hendrix used it in his favourite
song, refers to sly ad beautiful. Yes,
we were noticing that people were milling up and down the street, some for
socializing, going for a drink or shopping.
Some were dressed to kill, in a way – hunting.

I felt that we were doing our job out there on our
favourite activity – harinam sankirtan
(chanting in public). The public was
really loving it. People joined us in
singing and some doing a jig. One
fellow, however, gawked at us, stopped for a few seconds to give a good stare,
analyzed us, and then went in another direction. He behaved just like the fox with the
squirrel.

I trekked through Rosedale on this perfect day. Everyone is out, feeling the same way –
enthused. People in their convertibles
with the tops down are in ecstasy.
Runners hit every piece of pavement with hot feet, and then the cyclists
breeze by as if there was no stopping them.
Birds also enjoy a kind of freedom that only they know. As for other living entities, it’s a burst or
explosion of colour or smell. Signs of
spring.

While all seems fine within my purview, in another part
of the world, in earthquaked Nepal, people are undergoing an anguish of such
incredible magnitude, hard to conceive.
Death. Buildings crumbled. Piles of bodies. Homelessness.
Family members displaced. People
trapped under debris. Injuries. Lack of food and water. Disease.
Lack of sleep. Inability to
access or assist.

The world is praying for their release. Food supplies and human basics are attempting
to make their way to victims. There is
lots of confusion. Nothing is easy to
remedy or fix. It will take not days,
but months before everything normalizes.
This is tragic.

What a paradox – my world and the one just
described. As bhakti yogis, it is not out of line for us to chant mantras on behalf of victims of this
tragedy. We can’t be too insensitive and
say, “That’s their karma,” and leave
it at that. Let us not be so quick to
judge or to pass judgment in such situations.
The immediate response to any calamity requires speedy and helpful aid.

We had a lovely lunch in Cabbage Town at the home of pujaris (priests). Rupa and Sanatan Goswamis are the proprietors
at their haven of a home. It is walkable
from our ashram. It’s 18 degrees Celsius, it’s sunny –
yes! And so, to and fro, I took to my
feet, or rather, they took me.

To reach Cabbage Town, you go through an interesting
neighbourhood. Once a heavy drinking
area, the now quiet colonial buildings are attracting young professionals. Down Parliament Street you’ll find antique
shops and more of the regular convenience and grocery stores, and even one
block of Tamil shops which cater to the Sri Lankan community.

I passed by a bus stop cubicle and two obvious alcoholics
who sat inside, upon seeing me, got really excited.

“Heeeyyy!” Both simultaneously shouted out the one
syllable perfectly, and they were loud.
Heads turned to see what was up.
They got the thrill of their day.

Nothing related to this mild incident, but minutes later,
two young women were walking and conversing, and as they passed by, I heard one
say to the other, “What goes around comes around.” Whenever I hear this phrase I clearly see it
as an accepted phenomenon. The
endorsement of transmigration of the soul, or reincarnation. And as I think about this concept, I look at
the different people I pass by. Some
look rather disheveled and bent over, and some walk upright, dressed with
confidence. We all have our own
individual destinies. Our souls all
travel with different karma behind
us.

After the great lunch and my return to the ashram, I walked through the park, it is
directly north of our ashram. It’s newly renovated and on the inscription
along the sidewalk there reads an excerpt from a poem by J. McPherson. She was a well known Canadian poet that lived
in our neighbourhood. Right close to the
maple tree planted in honour of our guru,
Srila Prabhupada, reads this stanza:

The world was first
a private parkUntil the angel
after darkScattered afar to
wests and eastsThe lovers and the
friendly beasts

Today is the birthday of Sri Sita Devi, the consort and
goddess of Ram. Knowing this, I received
an extra inward boost as I have so much reverence towards such a loyal
personality as Sita. Her devotion is
unswerving, endless, a clear reflection of the soul in the eternal world. I guess that’s one of the reasons why I
relish directing and producing the plays from the epics like the Ramayan. It is, from this great book, that I learn to
admire such extraordinary people – mortals, celestials and avatars, who carry such a high demeanour of character. Because of the productions I feel a growing
closeness towards the personalities who demonstrate inspirational
fortitude.

While passing the morning hours still in DC, the USA, I
did venture a short while with comrade, Dhruva, along a Potomac trail by big
mansions and finely maintained golf courses.

My second installment for the day for walking was in the
burbs of Brampton in a less green ravine, yet promising to be so in a matter of
days. It is spring, and even in this
more northern section of North America, you can see, smell, and feel the
incremental spring coming on.

My evening was blessed by converging with some of our
resident devotees from our downtown ashram. The place was in the home of Sanjaya, a
fairly newly married young man from our community. Here we chanted and feasted. I cannot keep in my memory the name of his
good wife. Every day I meet new folks,
names start stacking up, but I try. I
could not remember the name of their young one either, a pet dog actually. I do wish the couple well, and as for all
couples that are well situated with good communication abilities who are
principled and are financially okay, I bless that they will have lots of kids,
kids who will learn about Sita Devi.

We went on an outing (when am I not?) to Ann Arbor, the
University town. Our intent to engage in
some singing by the park and the heart of student campus life. The group of us from Ypsilanti, headed by an
outstanding American, Dev Madhava, took to chanting at a period in the semester
when exams are in session.

With exams in the forefront of everyone’s mind, there’s
no wonder I felt a bit of glumness in the air, if not feeling their tension
despite the glowing sun filled day. At
least, I would like to think that our chanting party which was stoic in one
spot, and then moving about the campus the rest of the time, was simply there
to cheer up the atmosphere in some way.
Perhaps the maha mantra that we were chanting could be interpreted as a
mark of auspicious or a brain stimulator.

Actually, someone in the crowd at the campus demonstrated
a minus in the grim department. His name
is Pete, and he had come to join us in what I would call our cute dance skip,
as we made our way along the campus grounds.

Pete had picked up on our spirit, in fact, at first
glance at him, I would call him a free spirit.
His hair of ponytail style was bunned up and his printed hoodie gave a
semblance of someone who’s a type of backpacker. Here’s a sort of a giveaway – when he joined
us he was a slight bulge eyed and happy as he pulled out a small pair of
Buddhist hand cymbals which he began to play.

Honestly, Pete so much enjoyed being with us that he
decided to stay with and even drive with us in the evening to Farmington, for I
was to conduct a seminar on kirtan
standards.

To Pete, I wish him the best, hoping he’ll never leave
the company of Krishna spiritualists.

Most people like to be at a good wedding for the bride
looks gorgeous and the groom is handsome, and where it’s a feel good situation,
and where parents from both parties are in attendance. That’s what it was like today, in matrimony
of Vitaliy and Ananda Rupa. Oops! I forgot to mention about the fabulous feast
at the end.

The priest, Jambavan, had his mighty army of four of his
eight kids to assist him in the samskar,
or sacrament, which entails a glorious fire emerging from the sacred
pit. There was his speech and mine. I chose to quote from the Gita,
18.5, “Acts
of sacrifice, charity and penance, are not to be given up; they must be
performed, indeed, sacrifice, charity and penance purify even the great
souls.” It was also requested to speak
after the wedding feast was over, but my thought was, “No, we’re going
to sing
and dance,” that’s what we did.

The event took place in the Hindu temple in Canton, a
great facility. What I found most
interesting was meeting a younger man in the WC area who had a profound
interest in monastic life.

“So, you’ve been a monk for how long?”

“42 years,” I said.

“What do you do about the sex urge?”

I said, “Get busy, such as pick up a drum and beat it and
chant like crazy.”

“How long does the urge stay in a person’s life?”

“It should diminish in time as you mature in years.”

The fellow had a slew of questions to follow. I asked him if celibacy was an omission of
his, and he remarked that he’s been contemplating it for some time. I assured him that the key principle to
follow was a focus on superior engagement,
“Let there be determination and a concentration on devotional service, and as
long as that keep you enriched and fulfilled, nothing like the fleeting urges
of lust can swerve you from the prime function.”

I have for some time been anticipating the visit of two
cross-Canada walkers. Dana Miece has
covered 20,000 km on foot on the trans-Canada trail, and Michael Oesch had done
the stretch from Toronto to Newfoundland and back, and then Toronto to the west
coast. Both of these gentlemen I
consider my heroes, and I believe it works totally mutual in admiration amongst
the three of us. Dana’s walking sponsor
had kept him happily detained for our agreed upon first ever gathering, which
was lunch at Govinda’s restaurant in our ashram. We had a brief sit down for a light lunch,
our little trio had the chance to share some of our individual trials and
triumphs on the road.

One thing that really took me by surprise about us, on
first impression, is that none of us, whether it be Michael, Dana, or myself,
appear physically slim or trim. I’m not
saying we are out of shape either, but for serious marathon walkers, you might
expect for us all to have a little bit closer to a Hanuman look.

Due to the shortage of time, we did not delve into
spiritual topics, although, I know Michael to be spiritual, and to have been
deeply transformed from his sojourn. He
personally told me in the past that his long trek across Canada was a real
purger. And Dana, well, I only know of
him when we spoke over the phone on a few occasions, once shortly after he was
hospitalized for having contracted what’s called Beaver Fever. My knowing him is more limited, although upon
meeting him, I felt an instant camaraderie, and even at our first
conversation. Treading a long trail is
known by few, so when a group of guys get together who have done just that,
they reach common ground.

It was a short but sweet union of sorts, and we expect
another get together before Dana returns to his walking or whatever. It was the day’s highlight for me.

While waiting for my flight at the Regina Airport, a
woman approached me and asked if I was a monk.
I told her of the Krishna conscious order I belong to as she initially
mistook me for a Buddhist.

“Oh, yes, I used to see you guys all the time in
Vancouver,” she said, and then leaned over closer and in almost a whisper,
said, “there’s too many Christians around here.” She alluded to the fact that Christians are
not her favourite people. She has a
right to her own opinion, of course. She
was actually very kind to me, and just wanted to talk to me like anything about
animals being protected.

I told her of one of the names of Krishna, Gopal, it
means ‘one who is a friend to the animals, especially the cow’.

“Oh, and I guess the pigs and chickens as well?”

“Yes, of course.”

She went about her way and then I began to chant on my
beads. I was actually still waiting for
my flight when a gentleman came up to me.
I had actually dozed off a bit from fatigue, not enough rest from the
night before.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I just wanted to say that God
loves you.” Now, I was already aware of
you, about the love factor, but it’s good to be reminded. He went on a bit about Jesus and his loving
side. Frankly, I know about this, so my
response was, “Jesus loves you too!” I reassured him. I don’t think he expected that remark from
me. It seemed to even throw him
off. The gentleman then returned to his
far distant seat.

I know that Krishna loves me, He’s been looking after me
for some time. If more people say, and
above all, demonstrate their love, whether it be coming from Jesus or a lady or
a man at the airport, and of course, Krishna, all collectively come together,
we would be living in a better world.

Often, for me, the most reflective or introspective times
occur during that brief or long walk.
While Kasyapa was pumping gas to fuel our vehicle en route to Regina on
Highway 11, I put in a request to walk.
There was an extra kilometre I gained for distance sake and for
thought. The thoughts projected me into
the future, the not so far future. And
in that short span of time some flashbacking to the past took place. I, no doubt, had to address the ‘in the
moment’, while watching my steps over dry and sleepy grass that was ready to
turn over for the spring to come up.

One thought replaces another just as one foot comes down
to replace the former. In this way life
rolls on with every physical move and every mental thought. I always anticipate that with every move
forward there will be forward thinking to accompany it.

The Iskcon centre in Regina on Retallick Street is
interesting. The interior reminds me of
my mental status at times. There’s a new
floor, but upon it rests furniture that is mismatched, and walls are overdone
with pictures and images, although they are sacred. It looked cluttered. The attendance of worshipers and meditators
was average in number. They were sweet
people and one girl had come to honour her birthday event sponsored by her dad.

I was given a full hour to speak on a conclusive verse
from the Gita, verse 18.66, wherein we are all advised to surrender to the
absolute power. The prasadam (consecrated food) was totally divine. As we relished the Sunday Feast which is
known the world over in Iskcon centres, the dhal (lentil spiced soup) was from
another realm.

It was post feast time when I took to Albert Street for
one last walking installment for the day.
I was with a person who I felt was moving forward in not only foot
movement, but in thought. There was some
confession of sorts, confusion, and pain expressed, but in the course of our
stepping forward, I believe, some hope and resolve was on this particular
soul’s horizon.

TRANSLATE

ABOUT ME

I am a disciple of A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, and I became a monk of the Hare Krishna order in 1973. My teacher gave me the spiritual name, Bhaktimarga Swami, which means "the path of devotion". Of course, this fits right in with my avid promotion of walking adventures as a way to connect with the Divine and lead a more care-free / car-free lifestyle. It is a great joy to share these adventures in both Canada and abroad with you via my daily blog.
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ARTICLE: BHAKTIMARGA SWAMI: A LIFE DRAMATIC

CLICK ON PHOTO TO READ FULL ARTICLE FEATURED ON ISKCON NEWS: To ISKCON devotees everywhere, the name Bhaktimarga Swami conjures up images of powerful, out-of-the-box stage productions; and of energetic kirtans, full of stomping dance moves and jubilant smiles...